'No mission too great' for West Point's Class of 2008

WEST POINT — Cadet Rory O'Connor stepped into the stadium with a big grin. "Hey, it's good weather out there," he said. "That means we're not going to war with another country."

Alexa James

WEST POINT — Cadet Rory O'Connor stepped into the stadium with a big grin. "Hey, it's good weather out there," he said. "That means we're not going to war with another country."

He explained: "Every time it rains on a graduating class, that class deploys to a new place." So goes one of many West Point superstitions. "It proved true with Iraq and Afghanistan," he said. "Now everyone's talking about Iran."

The U.S. Military Academy Class of 2008 marched onto the football field Saturday morning. Dignitaries who addressed the new Army officers all forecast war.

"You're entering arguably the most turbulent times in our nation's history," said Lt. Gen. Franklin "Buster" Hagenbeck, West Point's 57th superintendent. "This country will ask a lot of you."

"You're ready," he told them. "Trust me. You're ready."

All but two of West Point's 972 graduates will enter the Army as second lieutenants.

One cadet will be commissioned an officer in the Marines, and one in the Navy. Graduates owe a minimum of five years' active duty service.

Speaker Pete Geren, secretary of the Army, thanked the class for heeding "the call of war.

"I am humbled," said Geren, the Army's highest ranking civilian. "I stand before you as a grateful citizen representing a grateful nation."

Geren described the view from his office in the Pentagon. He said he often watches sunlight set across the "waves of chalk-white headstones" in Arlington National Cemetery. Every day, he said, horse-drawn caissons carry flag-draped caskets across the fields. "It is Arlington, not the malls and monuments and memorials, that tells the story of our nation."

Since commencement last May, 11 West Point graduates have been killed in combat. Cadet Joshua Edds lost his brother, 1st Lt. Jonathan Edds, Class of 2005, in August.

War is not a notion or a concept to the graduating class. It includes 42 "prior service" cadets — men and women who were enlisted soldiers in the Army before applying to West Point. Of those, 17 are combat veterans. Their presence, underclassmen say, adds depth and context to their training.

The enlisted men are easy to spot among the corps, their medals glinting on what is usually a bare beginner's uniform.

"They've got the look," said underclassman Eugene Lee. "Their faces have seen a little more sun. They've got the haircut "¦ the swagger."

And the experience.

John Griffin IV was in Afghanistan with the 82nd Airborne when his company commander, a West Point alum, started bending his ear about the Academy. "You should think about it," he told Griffin, an Army Ranger and sergeant.

Griffin, 26, accepted his diploma and cracked a smile. He called his time at West Point a "love-hate relationship" and said he's ready to return to the infantry in Fort Bragg, N.C.

Of the 18 Army branches cadets choose from, infantry was most popular in this class. Roughly a quarter of the male cadets chose the branch synonymous with guns, grunt work and an almost certain ticket to the Middle East.

Nicholas Uhorchak, 22, of Cornwall, is among them. "I want to do that stuff," he said, and distance himself from the Academy's flash and prestige. "I'm not a big fan of parades."

With just a few minutes left of his last formal cadet ceremony, the sky over West Point dimmed, and a soft rain began to fall.

ajames@th-record.com

About two dozen anti-war demonstrators stood to one side of West Point Highway, and about the same number, plus five or six, anti-anti-war protesters stood on the other.

There they stood, insulting, filming and mimicking each other. Then the Highland Falls police told them there would be “no yelling, no screaming, no unnecessary noise” in the village. Violate that and get arrested.

So they walked. The anti-war demonstrators moved first, led on a march toward the United States Military Academy at West Point’s Thayer Gate by Michael Sussman of the Democratic Alliance. A handful of the group’s critics, formally known as Gathering of Eagles, soon grabbed flags and followed.

The police officers watched them go, shared a few looks between themselves and headed down the road to monitor.

The groups moved toward Thayer Gate before circling and returning to their former positions. More name-calling, photographing and mocking followed. The occasional passing car caused the only interruptions. After a while, the protesters went on another march.

By Doyle Murphydmurphy@th-record.com

Thirteen members of the Tankiewicz family circled Michie Stadium and found a row about midway up. In September, they’d stood in that stadium and watched 25-year-old Tony Tankiewicz parachute onto the 50-yard line with a football. Saturday, they came to see him graduate.

Tony took the long road to get there. He’d been in college, earning all A’s, on Sept. 11, 2001. He dropped out after the attacks without telling anyone and joined the Army. The Army suited him, and his superiors noticed. They recommended him for West Point, where he continued to excel, eventually becoming jump master of the Black Knights parachute team.

It was the perfect choice for the former volunteer firefighter from Tacoma, Wash., said Tom Tankiewicz, Tony’s father. Tom joined three generations of relatives with matching camo T-shirts. The words printed on the front read, “USMA Tank Brigade.”

By Doyle Murphydmurphy@th-record.com

Since 1946, West Point cadets have punctuated their graduation ceremonies by launching their hats into the air. The tradition now includes about a zillion little kids who line up across the infield and wait for the cue to sprint out and snag one of the white caps off the turf. To get the right image, think Oklahoma Land Rush. But first, they have to wait for that cue.

The cadet first captain says, “Re-Cover! Class! Dismissed!”

Little kids hear, “Ready! Set! Go!”

Within seconds, the quick have claimed their prize and run back to mom and dad, grinning. The unlucky, frightened or trampled, wander back a few moments later in tears.

Rebecca and Christine Yoo emerged from the fray, each wearing an oversized, blinding-white hat. It was tough in the middle of all those kids. “We were trying to dodge a lot of people,” Rebecca, 10, said. But it was worth it. Rebecca turned her hat over and found a note from the cadet tucked inside with $20.

By Doyle Murphydmurphy@th-record.com

Among the press kits passed out to members of the media was a list of rules. They primarily dealt with where to stand, where not to stand and press credentials. Then there was Rule No. 7: “Hats thrown at the conclusion of the ceremony are for the children.” Seems obvious, but Theresa Brinkerhoff of USMA public affairs said they’ve had press-badge-wearing adults try to slip away with the souvenirs in the past.

“I think they figure, ‘They’re a memento, there are so many of them, what’s the harm?’” she said. “They’re for the kids.”

By Doyle Murphydmurphy@th-record.com

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